


HankCon Short Connected Oneshots

by SilverFliesInBlueSugar



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Falling In Love, M/M, Recovery, Self-Harm, Short connected one-shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFliesInBlueSugar/pseuds/SilverFliesInBlueSugar
Summary: Just a bunch of Hank x Connor oneshots, slightly connected





	1. Chapter 1

Connor really couldn't comprehend this.

Whenever he was around Lieutenant Anderson, he felt like he was viewing the world through a thin haze. His speech came out breathy, and his movements felt clumsy and distracted.

Of course, as a deviant in the wake of the world changing, he had expected change. But this particular change was a hindrance.

The weirdest part was that it felt *right*. He *liked it*???

So he now had an oxymoronic situation wherein he knew it would be in his best interest to eradicate this error from his software, but... But he didn't want to.

He sat next to Hank as they watched an apparently especially invigorating sports match, and as the team he was rooting for scored he threw his arms in the air, only to find that when they slumped again one landed atop Connor's own folded hand.

He had frozen, ice blue eyes widening as he had turned to awkwardly look at their now touching hands, before yanking his away and breaking contact.

Connor barely even registered this, as all of his attention and critical thinking had killed itself the milisecond their hands had made contact. His unnecessary breath had halted, mouth staying jarringly slightly open and his motor functions seemingly vastly restricted.

Hank had turned from him and folded his arms, clearly embarrassed, but Connor sought out that feeling akin to how a druggie might seek out their next fix, hazily shuffling over with his hands trembling to rest his head on the lieutenants shoulders.

His partner's breath hitches, and for a moment he worried he had screwed up, but the grey haired man soon relaxed and threaded his fingers through his hair idly.

"Dork" he mumbled fondly, and Connor swore his heart flew.


	2. Nightmare

Androids couldn't sleep, of course. They just went into standby or otherwise set their systems to the lowest setting to cooldown, though the need for the second was rare.

This state allowed them to remain semi-conscious even as they simulated 'sleep', which is how Connor ended up being 'woken up' at 4am by odd, hard to make out sounds. Crying? He waited for a few minutes and the noises didn't stop, perhaps even getting louder, so he headed to the source to find out what was happening.

He found Hank curled up in a mess of blanket, eyes shut tightly and sweating profusely, gasping for air and whimpering out incoherently, though Connor could make out both the word 'Cole' as well as his own name.

Concerned, LED flashing yellow and then red for a split second, the android reached out to hold him by the shoulder and shake him moderately gently. The man immediately started awake, pupils blown wide, unseeing as he instinctually lashed out.

His arm robotically snapped up to catch the fist sent his way, and he let out a slight 'ooft' as a foot jammed into his stomach, causing his knees to instinctively buckle as the air was pushed from his artificial lungs.

"Lieutenant!" he shouted, pinning the man down on the bed, climbing atop him. "It's me, Connor! Please calm yourself!"

For a moment he continued to struggle blindly, but after a beat jerked as though he had been slapped, and comprehension damned into his eyes. "Connor?"

"Yes, Hank. It's me. Are you calm?" the bot ran a quick analysis, satisfied to see his heartrate returning to normal and his status being mostly awake and almost free of delerium.

Hank shook his head before his gaze landed on where Connor pinned him, hands restraining his own, fingers having slipped to intertwine with his. He kneed him in the chest, and the brown haired man let out a 'pf' noise and fell slightly back before adjusting himself, now kneeing and leaning awkwardly backward on the end of his bed.

Hank shook his head, rubbing his forehead. "Jesus christ Con, you don't half give me a heart attack" he groaned. "The fuck're you doin' in my room straddling me?"

"I heard you making noises and feared you were experiencing a nightmare" Conner said honestly, brown eyes soft as he observed how the other man tensed. "Would you like to speak of it?"

"In the morning" he muttered, shoving a pillow over his head. Connor looked at him skeptically and he smiled crookedly. "Seriously you hunka plastic, i will. You go back and.. Hybernate"

After a slight shared smile, the android left.


	3. Thirium

Maybe he didn't hate the taste of his blue blood when analysing samples at crime scenes, but there was an inherently distasteful emotion to seeing it flow from his own body.

After one altercation with a particularly persistent drug dealer, a bullet wound was in the android's shoulder, accompanied by sweeping lacerations across his stomach from a knife. He clutched at it, trying his best to ignore the error warning as he lost a copious amount of the life fluid.

Hank had rushed to his side, eyes wide and fearful as he tore off his jacket and wrapped it around the wounds, calling 'CyberFix', the small organisation made up of ex-CyberLife members who sympathised with androids and would fix them, and soon received a box full of thirium pouches and some spare parts even.

Connor lay on Hank's sofa, sinking into the actually rather stiff leather, and as the grey haired man moved to sit beside him, he shifted his head onto his lap. Hank twitched but chuckled.

He didn't like being hurt, but he was willing to lose some thirium to experience moments like this.


	4. Near Death

Hank sure hated when criminals resisted arrest.

They had found that criminal who had shot and stabbed Connor, the drug dealer, and Hank had effectively cuffed him and had been dragging him to the police car when the man kicked him with suprising vigor.

Buckling, he had little time to move as a cuffed wrist was slammed into the side of his head, and the little shit began to run. Connor yelped in worry when Hank disregarded the now very much open and bleeding cut on his head to sprint after him. 

He grabbed the guy, who spun to shoot forward, headbutting him. He reeled, vision going blurry, and felt as though every puft of oxygen had been slammed from his veins as a knife sank between his ribs.

He fell to the ground, chilled by the light snowfall around them, blood staining the pure white coating the floor. He hazidly saw Connor move to knock the guy out while he was distracted ensuring Hank was fully down, and Connor simply kicked the incapacitated criminal harshly in the head before moving to Hank at a speed the lieutenant had never seen before.

His vision went black.

×××  
"Hank? Hank, are you awake?"

He groaned, mumbling something vaguely resembling '5 more minutes..' as he turned in his bed. His mind was snapped to consciousness when Connor practically leapt at him, arms encircling him tightly.

"God,*hank*!" he spluttered, eyes filled with more emotion than even most human's were capable of. "I was so scared! You almost did not make it!"

He wheezed but leant against the bot. "Yeah, well, i got you to thank for saving my ass"

He took slight satisfaction in how his gratitude brought a flush to his partner's cheeks.


	5. Awkward

It was awkward to be around each other now.

Connor flushed at the slightest of remarks that fled from his partners mouth, and Hank was oversensetised to any kind of contact, shuffling whenever Connor so much as tapped his hand.

Connor had learnt to be weary of where he should touch the lieutenant (god that sentence made him shudder with something he couldn't name). Hank was fine with being touched on his shoulder and higher back, but absolutely despised when someone touched his inner wrists.

Connor had learnt not to ask why.

He did, however, dispose of the rusting razors he found at the back of the medicine cabinet.

A safe touch was resting his head on Hank's shoulder while watching the TV, an action Hank seemed to find equal parts awkward and comfortable.

He had learnt to not ruffle Hank's hair (especially not to tie it), he had learnt that when the lieutenant was drunk not to pat him or to place his hand ANYWHERE below the belt (a drunk Hank once yelled he would dispose of Connor when he grabbed him by the inner thigh while lifting him, and the boy had taken it to heart). 

He had learnt also that contact with his face was a big NO.

A fleck of blood had gotten onto Hank's face, and, without thinking, he had moved forward and swiped it off, licking it to analyse it.

Hank's blood temperate and heartrate increased significantly, and he shuffled, spluttering out obscenities.

Connor rather liked Hank flustered.

Though he would never tell him that.


	6. Self Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Self Harm

Perhaps Connor wasn't as thorough in cleansing Hank of his bad habits as he had thought.

RK900 had told him that Hank seemed rather tipsy, and after a breif scan he realised the officer did in fact have alcohol in his system, even if only a little.

Him being back to old routine was compounded when Hank left before Connor, and proved when his partner found him completely hammered, slumped on the sofa with several bottles next to him, a revolver with a bullet left in (two shots away from killing him, Connor noted drily) and a boxcutter.

He swiftly disposed of the bottles and had to restrain himself from crushing the gun, instead placing it in a draw. He slapped his face to awake him, just as he had the first time he had found him like this, and Hank jerked, eyes wide.

"Whu-uuuh, what r'ya doin' in my houssse? Geddout!" he snapped. Connor rolled his eyes, patience thin in the depths of his anxiety. His hands balled into painful fists, nails carving thin crescents into his synthetic skin. He bit painfully into his lower lip. "I'm afraid i can't, *lieutenant*" he said sharply, feeling a sense of deja vu, pronouncing the title as if it were a particularly vile cuss.

Hank offered vague mumbled protests as Connor hauled him to the bathroom before quickly fleeing so he wouldn't be able to hear the sounds of vomit sure to come.

His eyes were drawn back to the weapon on the sofa seat, and he felt his throat clench.

"What were you doing with the boxcutter?" he shouted, trying not to shake. There was a beat of silence before the older replied. "Nothin' important, just swingin' it around!"

Connor shook his head and placed it on the countertop, before walking back in to see a dazed Hank splashing water onto his face and clutching his arm awkwardly.

"Hank. We need to talk"

He turned to him, grey hair obscuring his vision. "Not reallllly, no" he grumbled, slurring. "Nothing ta talk abouttt, I'm fineeee"

"Why do you insist on telling me you're fine?!" Connor exploded, brown eyes almost seeming to flash in the light. "You sell me all this crap about you getting better, you make me beleive you're okay, and then you do THIS to me?! I can't live like this- i can't live knowing even with so much progress you might just go back to drinking and I'll find you dead-" his rambling stilted as his breath caught sour in his throat. He made a choking sound, eyes stinging, though he couldn't really cry.

Hank had frozen, staring at him with his jaw agape. He was still clearly drunk but cleared up enough to at least comprehend what Connor was saying, and he looked profoundly guilty.

"I.. Look, kid-" he started, clearly restraining slurring, but still shook on his feet, eyes fogged. Connor moved to steady him, but something caught inside of him and he didn't, and Hank fell roughly against the wall. His eyes were hard even as the stinging intensified. "Hank, i- i need some time. Away"

He walked out before Hank could reply.

===

"Con?"

Connor tensed at his desk, the clock ticking indicating the end of the day and thus time to leave. His LED had been circling a bloody red all day, and he had refused to even talk to his partner. The rest of the office could sense the tension and left them alone, even Reed, who seemed to be hanging around RK900 more anyway. 

"What is it, Anderson" he said sharply, even as his voice tremored. Hank flinched, turning away. "Fine, nevermind-" he hissed, slinging on his jacket, but Connor stood up even quicker. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry lieutenant, i don't like to snap" he said weakly. "I'm just.. We need to talk"

"In the car, then. Not here" he said, and Connor nodded in agreement. The moment they were seated in the vehicle, the deviant placed his hand on Hank's wrist. He tensed, and he had to fight not to flinch at the hurt he felt when Hank withdrew, eyes narrowed as if he didn't trust him.

"Hank" he said softly, leaning forward even as his target moved back. "I want to help you. But i can only do so if you let me, and if you try yourself"

Hank sighed. "Okay, fine. What do we do first?"


End file.
